


I'm Breaking While You Fall Asleep

by ChocolateCapCookie



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Depressed Steve Rogers, Depression, Divorce, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Oblivious Tony Stark, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Divorce, Sad, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Triggers, Whump, stony sad secret santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28173198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateCapCookie/pseuds/ChocolateCapCookie
Summary: Fuck what everyone else thought. Steve was as normal as they were. He didn’t have to be “diagnosed”. He didn’t have to take any “medication”. As far as he was concerned, he was perfectly, perfectly fine. There was nothing wrong with him.At all.Or, the one in which the very thing you're trying to avoid is the thing that kills you, and Steve learns that the hard way.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 20
Kudos: 101
Collections: Stony's Sad Secret Santa 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avengersandco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avengersandco/gifts).



> Thank you to [@sapphic_futurist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphic_Futurist/pseuds/Sapphic_Futurist) for being the most amazing alpha/beta/cheer reader ever! I dunno how I would've gotten this done without you!

_**Six months before** _

Being buried alive. That’s what it felt like.

Of course, that was stupid. He wasn’t buried alive. He had family and friends that he loved, a job he adored, and the most wonderful partner a man could have.

And yet, Steve felt like he was slowly suffocating to death.

He looked around him, slowly meddling with the neck of the beer bottle he was holding. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the sight of everyone happily enjoying themselves, taking a sip of beer as his eyes came to rest on one Tony Stark.

His husband. The love of his life.

Steve didn’t deserve him.

As if to prove, once more, how Tony was practically perfect in every way, he walked up to Steve right that second, casually pulling away from Natasha and Bucky.

“Hey, honey,” he said, bending over to place a soft kiss to Steve’s lips, licking at a stray drop of beer. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” It was automatic now, the way he said it. That was the answer everyone expected, that was what he had to be, and that was what he said. He was always fine.

Really.

Tony didn’t suspect a thing. He never did, bless his heart. He asked Steve a few more times to come join the rest of the party, but they both knew he never would, and Tony had soon slipped away to talk to everyone else.

As he should. Tony Stark was beautiful, and brilliant, and didn’t deserve to be held back by someone who couldn’t sacrifice a bit of comfort to make him happy. If Steve was any kind of man at all, he’d swallow down his anxiety and go join Tony.

He hated it. He hated the idea of having to socialize, but he hated the fact that he couldn’t do this one simple thing more. The fact that something so pedestrian and normal drove his brain into hyperspeed, how every hello and goodbye sent him spiraling into a confusing mix of anger and fear and shame. He hated how he couldn’t honestly say he was fine when Bruce kindly asked him how he was, how all he wanted from the moment he stepped inside Nat’s house was to leave. Most of all, he hated himself for wanting that, because he was a terrible person if he couldn’t appreciate the effort his friends - and his amazingly wonderful husband - had gone through to set this up.

As he sat there, however, staring at the crowd of talking, mingling bodies, all Steve could feel was that overwhelming sense of suffocation again.

  
  
  


_**Five months before** _

That fucking _party._ He’d hadn’t wanted to go in the first place, but he did because he hadn’t wanted to disappoint Tony. And now, he had both Natasha and Bucky on his back, as if having Tony ask him if he was fine every time he breathed wasn’t enough. They’d shown up at Steve and Tony’s the next day, asking if Steve was okay, politely pretending to care about how he felt. And then, Nat had thrown out a chance remark, one about maybe seeing a therapist, how that would be good for Steve. She’d said it ever so lightly and casually, but Steve knew what she really meant.

She thought he was sick in the head.

Well, fuck her. Steve was as normal as she was. He didn’t have to be “diagnosed”. He didn’t have to take any “medication”. As far as he was concerned, he was perfectly, perfectly fine. There was nothing wrong with him. At all.

Sure, sometimes he felt a bit scared of stuff. Sometimes, it was hard to talk to people. Well, that was fine. Everyone had bad days. He was nothing special.

Sometimes, when Steve woke up in the morning, he felt it in his bones that nothing would go right, one of those “wrong side of the bed” days. Like yesterday, when Tony texted him to ask “Can I call you?” and Steve’s mind was on overdrive, his heart panicky, going over everything he might have done wrong for Tony to call. 

Even after Tony had called, needing real-time directions, Steve’s heart hadn’t stopped thumping for a while. That was terrifying. What if he had done something wrong? What if... god forbid, he’d messed up the directions and now Tony was lost and stranded somewhere, silently cursing Steve? What if Tony hated him now?

Steve had bitten his lip, unsure whether it would be okay to call and check on Tony. On the one hand, he didn’t want to annoy him; god knows he’d spent way too much time on the phone with him and Tony was probably already tired of his voice. He didn’t want to annoy one of the few people who still chose to stay in his life. But then again... what if?

Luckily, Tony had texted him a selfie later on, with a smile and all four limbs present. Steve hadn’t killed him, and the relief he’d felt when he looked at the picture was almost more painful than the fears he’d had in the first place.

That was normal, right? Everybody else worried about their friends. Everybody else had moments of panic. Everybody else was scared of relationships because they knew they’d fuck it up in the future.

Steve was normal

There was definitely nothing wrong with him.

  
  


_**Four months before** _

Steve clenched his fists, his entire body squeezing in on itself, his cheeks somehow wet although he had no memory of crying. He remembered looking this up on the internet last night, and he remembered what he had to do; breathe in deeply, hold for four seconds, breathe out, hold for four seconds, repeat. He tried, he really did try, but it was all he could do to focus on the short, gasping breaths he released between quiet sobs.

Or at least, he hoped they were quiet. The only thing worse than having an anxiety attack at work was having everyone know you had an anxiety attack at work. He’d never be able to face them again.

Slowly, surely, Steve gathered control of himself. He wiped his face clean with the back of his sleeve, but he was still trembling too badly to even begin to think about trying to step out in public right now.

It was times like this when he hated himself the most, when he despised himself so much that he didn’t see the point of existing. Narcissistic and self-centered though it may be, Steve never could shake the image of a knife buried in his chest, blood dripping around the plastic handle as he stared at it with a mix of dismay and joy. It was stupid, he knew — if he ever did kill himself he wouldn’t do it by stabbing himself in the heart, of all things — but it was a thought that consumed him at times like this, a thought he couldn’t shake off. Maybe he secretly didn’t want to shake it off.

He thought about Tony, and immediately felt a wave of hatred and revulsion wash over him. How could he be sitting here, assuming his life was terrible, when every day he had Tony? Poor, wonderful, amazing Tony, who’d married a man with hopes and goals and dreams, and was now stuck with this useless, empty husk of a person that Steve was passing for.

Tony didn’t deserve this. He deserved better, so much better than Steve was ever able to give him. He was an absolutely wonderful man, made for bigger and better things, and he shouldn’t be tied down, not by Steve of all people.

Maybe the both of them would be happier apart.

  
  
  


_**Three months before** _

“Steve,” said Tony, staring confusedly at his phone, “Is there a reason I’m getting advertisements for divorce lawyers? And why are they popping up every time I type a ‘D’ into Google?”

Steve stilled, almost dropping the cup of coffee he was pouring out for Tony. He hasn’t meant for him to find out. Not yet. He didn’t want to divorce Tony. He wanted to stay with Tony forever. But he knew that was impossible. Tony would soon grow tired of him, and there was no harm in being prepared, right?

“It’s for a friend from work,” Steve lied, quickly. “He wants to divorce his wife, but doesn’t want her to risk finding out until he gets the paperwork done.”

“Oh,” said Tony, shaking his head sadly. “That poor couple.”

Steve shrugged, sitting next to Tony and handing him his coffee. “They just... didn’t work, I guess.”

“I’d never want to divorce someone like that though,” frowned Tony. “It shouldn’t be a surprise. If I ever did want to divorce you, I’d let you know. I’d make some effort to mend the relationship first. And if things don’t work out, I’d still give you the time to get your own legal stuff done, not to mention discuss the logistics of the whole thing between ourselves before getting lawyers involved.”

“Sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into this,” Steve said, his light tone not betraying the immediate surge of anxiety he felt. It was official. Tony wanted to divorce him.

“No, not really. I don’t think I’d ever want to divorce you.” Tony pressed a soft kiss to Steve’s cheek that did nothing to calm him down. “You’re stuck with me forever, mister.”

“Wouldn’t you get tired of it?” Steve asked, blurting the question out before he could stop himself. “I mean… you’d get bored and want someone new at some point, right?”

“Steve,” said Tony, concern clear in his eyes, “No. I’d never get tired of you. I don’t want to think about a life without you. Where’s this coming from?” He shook his head, not looking Steve in the eye. “Do you want a divorce? Is that what this is about?”

Well, there Steve went again, always fucking something up. Tony was sad, Tony was hurt. All because of him.

“No, I don’t,” he said quickly. “I’d never… no. I don’t want to. I was just saying, if you wanted one… I wouldn’t mind.”

“I feel like I should be insulted by that,” hummed Tony, who’d turned back to his laptop now. “But I know what you meant to say. And you don’t have to worry Steve. In a million lifetimes, I’d never want to leave you.”

_In a million lifetimes, I’d never want to leave you._

After everything Steve had done to him, _Tony would never leave him._ Even with what Steve was about to do to him—

And it was then that Steve felt his heart break.

  
  
  


_**Two months before** _

“Tony,” he said. Quiet and calm. Still anxious, but somehow not too worried.

“Yeah, honey?” Tony called absently. He looked so peaceful, lying in bed shirtless with only pyjama pants on, sitting up and reading something off his tablet, waiting for Steve so they could go to bed. Steve couldn’t bear to be the one to make it all go away.

But he had to.

“Can I talk to you?”

Tony, not noticing anything out of the ordinary, bless his heart, moved the bedsheets back so Steve could sit on them, still absorbed in whatever he’d been reading.

“What’s up?” he asked absently, as Steve settled himself on their bed. _Won’t be ‘ours’ for much longer_ , he thought wryly. He stayed quiet for a couple of seconds, trying to get the words to come out right.

“I want a divorce,” he said, quickly and in a rush, as if saying the words faster would somehow make them hurt less. Going by the gobsmacked look on Tony’s face, that hadn’t worked.

“What — Steve, why do you want to — what?”

“I’m sorry, Tony,” he said, still quiet, not meeting the man’s eyes. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You come in here… tell me you want a divorce… and somehow think that’s not going to hurt me?” Tony cried. “Why, Steve? What did I do to make you want to —” Tony paused, choked up, apparently unable to speak further. Steve had never felt worse in his life.

“I’m so sorry, Tony,” he repeated, unable to stem the tears now, “I don’t want to hurt you, I promise. I just—” 

How could he ever explain this? How could he explain that he was really doing this for Tony, not for him? That the thought of being without Tony made him want to claw at his insides in agony, but he couldn't live with himself if he caused Tony any more pain?

Tony seemed to take his lack of speech as an offense, clambering out of bed and pulling a t-shirt on. Steve sat in stony silence, unspeaking, watching as Tony hurriedly packed a few clothes into an overnight bag.

“I’m… going to stay over at Nat’s,” he said, his voice thick. “I’ll talk to you about this tomorrow.” He paused in front of Steve as if to kiss him, but pulled away at the last second, placing a hand on his shoulder instead. “If you really want this, Steve, I won’t fight you. But I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to leave you. Think it over tonight. If you want me back tomorrow, I’ll come back.”

Tony left then, slamming the bedroom door behind him, and Steve could feel the phantom weight of Tony’s hand on his shoulder, heavier than the weight of what he’d just done.

_**One month before** _

Steve’s life now consisted of the same routine: wake up, go to work, eat, cry, sleep. He’d moved into a tiny apartment closer to work, because there was no way he’d be staying on in their apartment — if he’d broken Tony’s heart, the least he could do was not make him go through the stress of moving.

He really did have no one to talk to now, considering that he’d met Nat and Bruce and most of the gang through Tony, and they were very firmly on his side. Not that he’d expected it to go any differently of course — he’d broken Tony’s heart, and they had no reason to support him.

Bucky and Natasha had both tried to talk to Steve, but he’d been curt and quiet, not responding to any questions about Tony, and they’d soon grown tired and left. As they should. He didn’t deserve to have anyone around him. He’d lost the benefits of having friends as soon as he broke up with Tony.

As he’d done every day this week, Steve toed his shoes off and collapsed on his bed. He couldn’t seem to summon the energy to eat or shower, let alone make his own food or walk to the bathroom. He lay lethargically on his bed, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time, quite prepared to fall asleep in his work clothes and only wake up the next day.

He hated this. He hated being alone, with nothing but his thoughts for company. He’d even thought about buying a little kitten, one that could at least keep him company, but he knew he’d never be able to give a kitten the love it deserved. He could barely give enough to his—

Steve clutched a pillow to his chest, not letting the tears fall. He didn't deserve to cry, he wasn’t going to _let_ himself cry, not today, not after all of this, when it was really Tony who had gotten hurt—

 _Tony_. Steve missed him so much, it was like something had clutched his heart, squeezing it between its talons, and refusing to let go. Steve missed him. He missed having Tony’s warm presence around, he missed having someone to cuddle and sleep next to, he missed how Tony could calm him down without doing anything at all—

Steve’s train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the door. He considered for a moment not answering, pretending he’d fallen asleep, but whoever it was knocked more insistently, making it clear they weren't planning on leaving. Groaning, Steve stumbled over to open the door, not caring about how he looked. That was the _least_ worst part of him right now.

He pulled the door open and — _oh._ Tony. Speak of the devil.

“What are you doing here?” asked Steve, his voice rough from hours of disuse. Tony simply pushed past him into the apartment, his eyes raking over the empty takeout containers and clothes strewn over the room, coming to rest, at last, on Steve.

“Why’d you do it?” he asked, without any preamble, and Steve could see this — their being together alone for the first time in over a month — had as much of an effect on Tony as it did on him.

“If you’re talking about the divorce, Tony, I’ve already told you,” he said, curt but quiet, feeling the full weight of what he’d done. “It’s for both of us.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Tony, just as quietly. “What was the point of leaving the apartment to me? And everything else we owned? Did I really fuck up our marriage so much that you couldn’t even stand to share our stuff?”

Steve’s heart clenched at the tears in Tony’s voice. Here it was, living proof that Steve Rogers did nothing but fuck everyone up.

“No, Tony, it’s not… that’s not what I did it for,” he said, desperately needing Tony to understand. “I—I already broke up with you, I didn't want to be the person who took your home and your money away too.”

“You never told me what I did,” said Tony. “If I did something that was so bad you had to divorce me, why would you let me keep the apartment?”

Steve didn’t say anything in reply. Saying “I left because I am a shitty husband and you’re doing much better without me” didn’t seem like the answer Tony wanted, so he stared at his feet, refusing to speak.

“Steve,” said Tony a few seconds later, and his voice was so soft this time, so wonderfully loving, that Steve looked up in spite of himself. “Are you okay?”

“I should be asking you that,” said Steve bitterly.

“You went through a divorce too, Steve,” said Tony, “and by the looks of it, you haven’t been dealing with it at all.” He moved to stand close to Steve, leaving a healthy amount of personal space between them. “Are you doing okay?”

“I’m _fine_ , Tony,” he said. It was an answer he’d given so many times now that he’d started to believe it himself. “I’m great, I'm wonderful, I’m doing amazing. Now, if you have nothing else to say, I have work to do.” He opened the door, staring pointedly at it, and Tony took the hint.

“Okay, then, Steve,” he said, walking over and standing right next to him. “As long as you’re okay. I’m sorry for whatever I did that made you question how much I love you. If you want to get back to me, you can call me whenever you stop— when you’re done with whatever it is you’re going through.” Quickly, before Steve had even realized what was happening, Tony had pressed a swift kiss to his cheek and left, shutting the door behind him.

Steve was frozen in place, his heart thumping wildly. Involuntarily, with no conscious thought, he brought a hand up to caress his cheek. He could still feel the press of Tony’s lips on his cheek, hot and insistent under his palm.

For the first time that day, he let himself cry.

  
  
  


_**One week before** _

Steve didn’t contact any of his friends after that, but no doubt Tony must have told them what had happened. The very next day, Bruce and Rhodey showed up at his apartment, a surprise in itself since they were never the closest of friends. They didn’t have as much patience with Steve as Tony, or even Bucky, and they’d soon left, making it clear they disapproved of everything Steve had done and was doing.

That was fine with him. He didn’t need them to stick around or help him out. He was perfectly capable of living by himself.

Except, he wasn’t sure he wanted to anymore.

Before this, whenever the thought popped up, Steve found some reason to push it away. Everything from _I don’t want to hurt Tony_ to _That’s a lot of extra work for Bucky to deal with_.

But now… well, now, he had no reason not to do it, did he?

In fact, thinking about it… wouldn’t it be a good thing? If he just… up and left? He’d divorced Tony to make him happy, but even Steve wasn’t so blind as to ignore the fact that Tony was nowhere near happy right now. And it was all Steve’s fault for being such a fuck-up that even his ex-husband still needed to worry about him.

 _Tony wouldn't want you to die_ , a small voice inside his head said. _He still loves you_.

_And I love him, and that’s why I want to do it. To make him happy. So he doesn’t have to deal with me anymore._

His phone vibrated with a text and Steve snapped out of it. This was stupid. He wasn’t thinking about… no. He wasn't thinking. That’s all it was.

 _Are you doing okay?_ Tony had texted him, and Steve clenched his fists, barely holding himself back from throwing the phone across the room. He was so _done_ with that stupid question, and with the stupid people that kept asking him that, like they even cared about the answer. Like he’d ever be able to tell them everything he felt, and like they’d want to stick around once they’d heard it.

They wouldn’t. They’d all leave. Just like Rhodey and Bruce had. Just like Tony and Bucky would, soon enough.

He slammed the phone onto the table, not caring if it cracked, leaving the message unread. He stalked over to the door, pulled it open and walked outside for the first time in weeks, making his way to the little pharmacy across the street.

  
  


_**Today** _

If you wanted proof that Steve Rogers was a worthless, useless human being, here it was, all wrapped up in an ugly package. He’d bought these things last week, he knew exactly how to use them… he just kept putting it off, for some reason.

He was scared, sure. As much as he disliked every day he spent alive, at least it was familiar. At least the patterns of hatred and self-loathing were something he’d grown to expect. He didn’t know if he was ready to… to take the next step, as it were.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, as it had been doing for the last few days. Apparently, Tony didn’t seem to understand that Steve was no longer interested in contacting him. Steve barely even looked at the messages now, although a quick glance told him they were all variations of “Are you okay?” that Tony likely sent throughout the day. Because he was that much of a burden.

Well, at least he held the key to making it go away for Tony. He’d just down these pills… and Tony would never be bothered by Steve Rogers again.

The phone vibrated in his pocket again, more insistently this time, and Steve felt a familiar anger wrap itself around him.

Yeah. He was angry. Angry at Tony for not letting him do this one last thing in peace, for making everything worse by staying in contact even after Steve had broken his heart, for merely _existing_ in his bright happy life that had made all of Steve’s worst flaws and insecurities that much clearer.

Another vibration. Tony really wasn’t letting up today.

Steve pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at it. 74 unread messages over the last week. 70 of which were from Tony, Tony, whose name still had a heart next to it, and one or two from a red star, which meant Bucky had tried to get in touch too.

He stared at it for a second more and then, with no conscious thought, like someone else had taken over his body and was now controlling his every move, he threw the phone into the toilet.

He looked at it coldly, feeling no emotion at all. After years of dealing with deep, crippling sadness, overwhelming emotions any time he was in public, and the general sense of anxiety that never left him… this was a nice feeling.

It felt really nice.

And, looking at what he held in his clenched hands, he knew what he needed to do to keep feeling this way.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Two hours after_ **

Whatever else the others might say about Steve, one of the many great qualities that Tony loved about him (which, usually, most people seemed to ignore) was that he was at least quick. He’d never once left Tony hanging, or failed to deliver on something he’d promised to do.

Which was why a week’s worth of texts with no reply was concerning. It wasn’t like Steve at all, especially when Tony could see he hadn’t even read them. Steve was simply too much of a perfectionist to allow unread messages pile up for that long. Something was wrong, he could tell, but he also knew that Steve needed space right now, so he didn’t do anything beyond increasing the frequency of his texts.

Which were now remaining stubbornly undelivered.

That was the breaking point, as far as Tony was concerned; there was a time to give Steve space, and that time had long passed.

Grabbing his keys, he slammed the door of the apartment behind him, making sure to call Bucky as well. Something was going on with Steve, and Tony was going to find out what it was.

Both Tony and Bucky arrived at Steve’s at the same time, Bucky half-shaven and dressed in clothes that held evidence of beer stains on it.

“You didn’t give me any time to get ready!” was his only explanation, but there was no bite in his words. He was as worried about Steve as Tony was, possibly even more considering Tony didn’t really have a relationship with Steve at the moment.

Tony knocked aggressively at the door, not giving a shit about what Steve was doing. If he didn’t want people waking him up, he should’ve had the decency to reply to their texts. When there was still no answer, Bucky took over, yelling through the door for Steve to _Open this goddamn door before I break it down myself!_

Soon, several people were peeking out of their homes, curious about the racket that was taking place outside their doors. Tony could’ve slapped them all in the face — this was not a show, he was trying to get to his ex-husband for fuck’s sake — but a nice little old lady who lived next to Steve suddenly remembered she had a key to the apartment that the previous tenants had given her, which both Tony and Bucky gratefully accepted.

Rushing inside the house — Tony made sure to lock the door behind him so none of Steve’s nosy neighbors could follow them in — they ran straight for Steve’s bedroom, hoping and praying that Steve was there.

 _Please just let him be asleep,_ Tony begged internally, not even knowing who he was praying to. _Let him be so deeply asleep he didn’t hear us. Don’t let him be..._

He wasn’t even on his bed.

“He can’t have gone out anywhere, can he?” said Bucky with a frown. “His shoes are still here.”  


“Fuck me.” Tony collapsed onto Steve’s bed, running a hand over his face. Steve wasn’t in the apartment, he likely hadn’t gone outside, and he didn’t seem to have his phone on him. Tony could come up with several theories as to what could have happened, each one more terrifying than the last.

“Look for him again,” he said, his voice hoarse. This was no more just a gut feeling — he knew with absolute certainty now that something terrible had happened, something he should have been able to stop. “Ask the neighbours if they saw or heard him leave. I’ll look around here, see if he’s left his phone behind or something.”

Bucky patted him once on the shoulder, knowing there was nothing he could say. Tony stayed seated and motionless as he heard the door shut behind Bucky and the muffled sound of him knocking at a neighbor’s door. Slowly, haltingly, he pushed himself up, not knowing what he should do next.

He looked around Steve’s room for a while, but it was so tiny that Tony was soon sure there was nothing hidden there that could help. He peeked into the kitchen as well before collapsing onto the couch, too mentally exhausted to even pretend to be searching for anything at the moment.

What had Steve been thinking? What was he doing right now? Didn’t he realize how worried he was making everyone? Or what if Steve hadn’t done anything? Had he been kidnapped? Was he, at this very moment, being tortured or held for ransom?

 _Fuck_ , he thought again, falling so he was lying down on the couch. This circular thinking wasn’t doing anything but making him feel worse. He’d look over the apartment again, he decided, more carefully this time, so he could make sure he didn’t miss anything—

Wait.

There was a light on in the bathroom, only visible from his new vantage point. Steve never made it a habit to leave the lights on (“Think about the environment, Tony!”) and this… this was stange.

Slowly, Tony walked over to the bathroom door and tried to push it open. It wasn't locked, he could tell, but something was pressing it shut from behind.

Tony pushed again, putting his full weight onto the door, which finally burst open, sending Tony stumbling into the bathroom, where he landed on the floor. Tony opened his eyes blearily, disturbed by his sudden fall. Whatever was behind the door had been pushed to the side by Tony’s force. 

Slowly, hesitatingly, Tony pushed the door back, not knowing if he really even wanted to see what was behind it. He shut his eyes until he heard the door click shut, knowing he was alone in here.

And when he finally found the courage to open his eyes, well… at least his wish had come true, kind of.

Steve Rogers was indeed, very deeply asleep.


End file.
